


We. Us. Together.

by ZephyrOfAllTrades



Series: Christmas Miracles [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Can't think of more tags, Christmas Eve, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Presents, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), Post-Apocalypse, anywaysenjoy!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-15
Updated: 2019-10-15
Packaged: 2020-12-31 01:56:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21042173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZephyrOfAllTrades/pseuds/ZephyrOfAllTrades
Summary: They should act more like humans and what humans do is gives presents. Lots of presents specially on Christmas. As friends, of course. He’ll make sure to say. Avoid awkwardness and all that. He’ll get ‘round to confessing (again - last time he tried, all that came out was "Sh-shall I drop you anywhere?") just as soon as the hubbub of general goodwill and peace die down and lessen his annoyance.





	We. Us. Together.

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: the present hasn't been given yet.... hence the series.  
I didn't think it'd need other chapters, sorry. Blame these idiots and the way they beat around the bush.

What’s not to like about Christmas?

The cold, for starters. Crowley trudged his way along a route he can walk in his sleep (and did quite a few times actually). He was on his way to Aziraphale’s bookshop this Christmas eve to give him a present.

He’d been debating on whether or not to give a gift at all but convinced himself that after defying Heaven and Hell and siding in with humanity, they should act more like humans and what humans do is gives presents. Lots of presents specially on Christmas. _As friends, _of course_. _He’ll make sure to say. Avoid awkwardness and all that. He’ll get ‘round to confessing (again - last time he tried, all that came out was "Sh-shall I drop you anywhere?") just as soon as the hubbub of general goodwill and peace die down and lessen his annoyance.

Christmas wasn’t so bad really, but then Christmas was actually created by demons. They wanted an excuse for debauchery on grand scales. To add to the human’s discomfort, Crowley suggested it be set on the coldest and wettest time of the year. He thought it was hilarious, until Hell had assigned him back to England after enjoying the warmth of the middle east.

He got tetchy after a few years of tagging along pagan worshipers into fields and dark forests that took him closer to freezing point. To make things more comfortable for him – spending the days near warm fire with basically nothing to do – he took it upon himself to scare the unsuspecting villagers. He spread the rumors of gods ready to snatch at them if they leave the safety of their homes. This led to the yule log burning, but he found it became extremely boring to children. They were just kids. So, he told ghost stories to pass the time. The adults getting bored themselves, took it up as tradition alongside their drinking and eating and all around merry-making.

The angels getting fed up with the imbalance of powers during this time of the year simply took the opportunity of Jesus’ birth to dampen all the partying. They even went as far as implying that the date was December 25th. That was incorrect but they were desperate to cling onto something when it came to the holiday. But although their side of the story was accepted all throughout the world, they still couldn’t stop the revelry that came with it.

Crowley liked the old days where he could just curl by the fire waiting for spring to come back. That’s when he experienced the deliciousness of sleep. On an unbelievable turn of events though, Christmas became too big an event to keep indoors. There was all the shopping for one thing. Toys mostly. He thought up the industry, he did. Hell asked what was so evil in them and he had a whole afternoon presenting the effects of his wiles. Children screaming to get presents and parents screaming back. The jealousy of a sibling or friend getting a bigger and better toy than they had. The sorrow of a child forgotten, to be given nothing at all, and probably growing up to become a serial killer.

Only Aziraphale knew that he simply wanted to spoil the children as best he could. He could never hide from the angel. But he was also grateful for that. They both played out the Krampus role to steal street children and those abused and neglected a few Christmases before. The angel was so capable in finding them proper homes.

They’d come together during the Holidays a couple of times as well, as Heaven and Hell were too busy in doing their thing, so they could do their own. They seek each other at some tavern (this was before the bookshop) at a table near the warmest fires, eating meat pies and downing alcohol, all while enjoying friendly banter. Crowley frowned. _There was that word again. Ngk. Friends_. All his thoughts lead to Aziraphale, but all he could attribute to the angel was being friends. He muttered under his breath as a young couple strolling in front of him slipped into the muddy gutter by the road.

It’s been months since the botched Apocalypse and to be honest, he was trying to not give a shit about Aziraphale because the angel certainly hasn't called him. And he's got pride enough to not be clingy, save for that drunk moment he called at 3am (but thankfully he dialed his own number and the call went to him instead, he almost burned his ansaphone with what he heard himself saying). He didn't care that they only had daily contact during their goparenting Warlock and all other times it was decades before they did see each other again. A call a day wouldn't hurt, right? He did not think of going on dates with him during the autumn months. Did not imagine his mittened hands clasped in the angel’s own. Nor of the way the wind would ruffle his white-blonde locks. Nor the twinkle in the angel’s eyes after offering him a candied apple or a piece of pumpkin pie. Nope. Not an iota of imagination did he use for those scenes.

He pulled his coat closer to his body and was glad the cold is distracting him from dwelling to much on his thoughts. He focused on stepping gingerly on the ice. It got pretty hard sauntering with the slush covering his ankles. He would have taken the Bentley. Had wanted to take the Bentley. But the ice was a menace. And even if he tried clearing the road there were the pedestrians. He needed Aziraphale in a good mood so he could hand over the gift. Scattered bodies won’t help.

He looked at the fairy lights hung on every shopfront, lantern and tree. But did not imagine how those lights would sit softly on the angel’s upturned brow. The aroma of roasted chestnuts filled the air. He did not think of a delicate nose turning up in search of the smell’s origin. And he definitely cannot see soft pink lips turning up to grin at him. An invitation - more temptation - to come to wherever the nearest food kiosk may be.

Another sigh escaped his lips. He was blessed if his thoughts did not wander back to the angel he wished had wanted him as much as he did. Blast that flaming sword! He rounded the last corner into the bookshop’s street and felt the yearning propelling him faster through its doors. At the front of the shop he stalled, calming his heart and head and threatening his corporation if it does one stupid thing that’ll blow his cover.

The sign read closed but it always did every Christmas time. For the whole month of December even. Humans were too desperate to look for presents that a lot more customers show up than Aziraphale cared for. He knocked gingerly and heard a croaked “Come in,” for an answer. The voice was too hoarse, too weak, too sick for liking. He burst in and contrary to his earlier threats, his whole being was of concern for his angel, despite knowing full well that angel – and demon – do not get ill.

He found the back room but couldn’t see Aziraphale. There was however, a mountain of blankets on the sofa. A tartaned hot watter bottle peeking out from one end. Crowley couldn’t really tell which end so he stood ground and called out.

“Angel, is that you?”

The bundle began shifting and a tuft of white curls appeared followed by two very blue eyes crinkled at the edges, and finally a smile. Crowley relaxed. He looked fine. Well, he was always fine to him, bloody breathtaking even.

He moved in closer to the sofa and crouched until yellow (still hidden behind dark glasses) and blue were at the same level. He swept a look at the blankets then cocked an eyebrow, clearly wanting to know more.

Another rustle and Aziraphale’s whole head came out with a fwump. In a scratchy voice he said, “Sorry, dear but can you make a pot of tea for us please. I’m a bit parched and unable to move an inch at the moment. I’ll tell you as soon as this throat of mine cooperate.”

Without a word Crowley took to the shop’s little kitchen and set water to boil. He took off his coat and laid it on a chair before snapping to turn the heat up inside the shop. He made the tea and took it over to the sofa and poured a cup out to Aziarphale who took it gratefully. He then languidly draped himself over the adjacent armchair and watched the angel daintily sip his cup and then pull his head back in appreciation of the warmth running down his milk white throat, the adam’s apple bobbing gracefully with each gulp. Crowley gulped too. He coughed to release whatever thought popped into his head and reminding the angel he had explaining to do.

The shop was becoming warmer and Aziraphale had let his covers slide down to his waist, revealing the white shirt and suspenders he had on.

“So, toad got your tongue?” Crowley quipped, after a few more minutes of silence from the angel.

Aziraphale cleared his throat and thanked him for the tea. His voice sounding more like his usual. “I just got home and had very little energy left after I slithered into these lovely blankets.” Crowley visualized himself slithering into those blankets with him.

“Great, uhm…” He shook his head to get the image out. “Yeah, thought you were on the verge of death or something.”

This might have sounded more casual had not Aziraphale heard his quickened footsteps and felt the demon’s fear earlier on. He blushed and hung his head. “Sorry for scaring you my dear.” He shot a look at Crowley through his lashes, and was instantly forgiven. I believe I performed too many miracles and didn’t really realize it ‘til I got home.”

“How many is too many then?”

“Oh, I didn’t stop to count. Really my dear, isn’t Christmas all about miracles? I couldn’t stay put on Christmas eve of all days. That’s the magic happens.” He lifted his finger up to make a point and wiggled himself free from the blankets now that the warmth was coming back into his limbs. He swung a leg out and heard Crowley grunt.

“You were doing your bit in _that_?”

Aziraphale’s suspenders were holding up a pair of bright RED pants. And at the very bottom of the sofa, he could now see some rather shiny black boots.

“No. No, don’t tell me you put on a ….”

And from the folds of Aziraphale’s cocoon came a long fluffy white beard.

“You were running around dressed as Santa for the whole day?” Groaned Crowley.

“So?” Aziraphale huffed. He didn’t think anything wrong with his costume when Crowley barely spoke to him whenever he was planning out his next get up for Halloween.

“Angel, you know you needn’t hand away presents anymore. The parents do that now. They have credit cards to get whatever the child cried for most. Your gifts would likely have been thrown underneath the piles they already had. Y’know, under that tree that’d likely burn their house down.”

“Come now Crowley, the trees nowadays have _electric_ lights,” Aziraphale admonished to the demon who had rolled his eyes at the retort. As if electric lights had a way of deflecting any and all forms of safety hazards.

“And if you must know, I wasn’t just giving away toys or the usual mugs and socks.”

“What did you give away then, besides a flaming sword I mean.” Crowley grinned.

It was Aziraphale’s turn to roll his eyes. Then stare pensively into his now empty cup. “They were proper Christmas miracles. We were allowed to do those during Christmas eve but there was still a quota so as not to overdo things. This was the first time I could go all out.” He sighed. And it pained Crowley to keep distance. “No, not anything tangible at all. Just the things their hearts have yearned for for so long.”

“So you went out in the freezing cold, in Santa outfit and began reading the hearts of forlorn singles?” Crowley smirked. _And you can’t even read mine. _He added in his head.

“Of course not! Some of them were though. Anyway, it wasn’t all just about the lovers. There were the elderly longing to be visited by their children and grandchildren, fathers who were depressed at coming home without ever so much as a pudding for his family to feast on, or that one woman who, being horribly overworked, almost collapsed in tears after being told that she still had to come to work tomorrow, when she thought she could finally come home to see her mother. The nerve some humans get. Very little to no sympathy at all to their subordinates. If you could have seen how…. Is there a joke I’m missing?” he addressed the giggling Crowley in his seat. Amused, Aziraphale asked again.

After heaving air into his lungs and wiping the tears from his eyes, Crowley walked over to the sofa and sat next to Aziraphale, this time taking his glasses off and beamed proudly at the only real angel the world has. _His _angel, he thought, his expression turning into a soft look that made Aziraphales’s stomach flutter.

“Humanity doesn’t deserve you, angel,” he sighs, aching to cup the bastard’s face in his hands and wipe that smile off his face with a kiss.

“Well they must come to terms with that as I shall be staying a while. I, uh, WE are all for humanity, remember?”

_We_ sounded good. Crowley draped one long arm behind the angel just a few inches away and ever so casually asked. “So, what should WE be doing then?” He was feeling much more relaxed by now. His head spinning with We. Us. Together. Even as friends. He wouldn’t really mind to much, so long as there will always be the two of them.

“Hmmmm…” the angel hummed leaning into Crowley’s arm slowly so as not to startle him. “Dinner?” he turned to smile.

Crowley could feel the pressure of Aziraphale’s shoulders on him and the was admiring the sight of white curls on black sleeves before replying “Sure, angel.” I came out breathier than he wanted.

“Just give me a few minutes to change into something more decent, then.” He stood up and came crashing back into Crowley’s arms before the demon even felt the loss of bodily contact. It took them a few seconds to remember where they were. The warmth, the softness, the proximity of the angel in his arms would have been enough to drive him over the edge if it stayed there any longer. Thankfully (or rather _unfortunately_), Aziraphale heaved himself upright again.

“We could eat here y’know.” He cleared his throat and added. “Wouldn’t mind the usual take out and all that. You’ve had quite a day and I know what it feels like when powers are stretched to their limits.”

“Oh, I know dear. Stopping time was ever so marvelous of you. And you handled it pretty well. I’m just not used to exerting myself too much. But no matter I am feeling much like myself right about now, and I wouldn’t want to ruin our Christmas eve with just take out." He gingerly stood up again and carefully made his way to the apartment upstairs as Crowley resigns to keep himself in order despite the fact he was hoping for more of whatever actually happened moments before.

Ten minutes later he was back down and both he and Crowley went chippingly out into the cold.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic. Please be gentle.  
Probably haven't done as much research as I should have. Just got too excited to post. Sorry 'bout that.  
Oh, and hope you enjoyed it! :)


End file.
